Wednesday, March 2, 2011

A Dog’s Life

For Gavin

I can’t take this anymore—I’m sore—
leave me alone—get out of my head!
I closed my eyes five times today, felt you
knocking wildly against my prostate—as if
my prostate were my heart—spurting soul

each time I came. I licked my fingers to
replenish my insides. I am a husk.
My skin seems alien. I can’t touch myself,
even to wash, without feeling your
hands holding the soap. When standing

before the mirror after swimming, I
squirt moisturizing cream into my palm,
bend over, rub my shins, my knees, my thighs,
my muscles stiffen, like a giant cock
I am stroking in public. My body

must belong to you. I am a dog,
a Victor dog, a werewolf spinning round
in circles to the sound of a new master’s voice.
Whatever crazy music you desire
to hear me howling at the moon, I play.

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